


Shiver

by Lindzzz



Series: Shiver [1]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bad Touch, Canonical Character Death, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non Consensual, Pitch Stop, Pitch no, Pitch that is not how we express our feelings, Put the teenager down and back slowly away, Restraints, Touch-Starved, you are terrible at everything Pitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/630022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He can’t touch Sanderson’s dreams anymore, but people are so good at making their own nightmares.  All he has to do is wait.</p><p>And Pitch is very good at waiting.</p><p>And there is almost nothing, he thinks, like seeing a wait come to an end. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver

Even immortals sleep.  
It’s not out of any necessity, but a simple desire. There is something about giving in to such a mortal need that calls to their kind. It can last for minutes or years, and there can be lifetimes between each nap. But eventually, they all sleep.

Pitch knows this; perhaps better than the rest of them. They can push him deep into the darkest corners of his lair, but sleep falls into his domain. Let him in and it’s far too easy to drag you into his world. He just needs to be let in first.

And so he sits in the shadows of a burrow deep underground now, waiting to be let in. The summer heat hasn’t quite reached down here, where the earth keeps things moist and cool and perfectly comfortable for the boy curled on the ground. Jack sleeps for a few days each year, always in the summer under his lake. Pitch knows his habits and movements more than he would like to admit and he has become exceptionally good at guessing when Frost will take his annual nap. But for the moment, Pitch isn't watching the boy. His eyes are pinned on the sliver of shadow circling Jack's prone form.

He can’t touch Sanderson’s dreams anymore, but people are so good at making their own nightmares. All he has to do is wait.

And Pitch is very good at waiting.

And there is almost nothing, he thinks, like seeing a wait come to an end. The small, dark shape eases towards the dancing sand above Jacks head, slowly working into the grains. Pitch pulls from the shadows only when they finally collapse with a soft, barely audible sound from Jack.

He moves slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare the new Nightmare away. His eyes are focused as he lowers himself down to one knee by the writhing blackness, holding his hand out coaxingly as he encourages her, voice soft and soothing.

“There we go…that’s it. Come on you pretty thing...almost there.”

He’s seen the creation of Nightmares so often that he lost track eons ago, but he’ll never get tired of this; watching the beautiful creatures birth as they dig themselves into the fear of their victims. He can feel her getting stronger as she works her way into the dream. 

Frost’s fear is a quiet but dangerous thing, a sharp snap in the air and the quiet cracking of ice under clumsy feet. Pitch revels in it, it’s different from the brief flashes he’s felt of Frost's fear before. Jack’s has always thrown anger over his fear, the sweet crispness of it dampened by a stubborn will that smothers the fluttering of true panic. This is much more lovely; quiet and insinuating and shivering. It’s only a small taste, but Pitch is already sure that he could get drunk off of Jack’s fear.

He stands as the Nightmare comes together and finally rears, its braying challenge accenting by the sharp crack of ice coating the once cozy burrow. 

Pitch relaxes, smiles, breathes in the sharp and bitterly cold air. Jack is curled tightly on himself, giving away nothing except the tang in the air and the snapping of ice around him. Pitch admires it all as he runs his hands over the newborn’s neck.

“Oh aren’t you just a lovely thing,” he breathes. And she truly is. She may not be the largest or deepest set nightmare, but she’s the first to infest Frost. She nickers and Jack makes a soft sound as a delicate filigree of frost winds up her legs. Pitch continues to fawn over her as she nearly dances on the spot, tossing her head in pride.

“And decorated as well, it suits you!” It does. The silvery tendrils are menacing on her, glittering ice shining bright and beautiful against the black of her sands. Pitch does his best to not think about just how well his Nightmare wears the frosted lacework. 

Instead he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers and lowers his voice, like he’s telling a particularly good secret.

“Now, why don’t you show me what you’ve made, hmm?” She snorts and he’s pulled into the Nightmare’s embrace before he can draw his next breath.

Cold.

It’s cold. And it’s dark.

He’s deep, deep in the inky depths lake, the sounds of crashing ice and a child’s screams are far louder than they should be down here. Memory has a way of clinging, focusing and enhancing the most miniscule of details. 

Pitch smiles, watching an impossibly frail boy struggle and panic as the cold and dark drag him down. It’s an old fear, muted by time and partially lost to memory, but it’s strong enough. Pitch closes his eyes and lets himself feel the full nightmare growing around him. 

Jack’s ears are filled with his sisters screaming, _what if she falls in? God he’s going to die he doesn’t want to die but his lungs are BURNING and turning to ice and there is ice scraping against his fingers and ice pulling at his limbs and making them so so heavy he feels like his whole body is turning into burning ice he can’t die not now she needs someone to make sure she gets home safe don’t follow stay back stay back I don’t want to die!_

It’s beautiful. Such a simple, innocent fear and Pitch soaks it in, loses himself in the crying panic of a young life screaming against its final moments. Death is not his to deal, but the special spiking fear it brings to every life is a heady rush. 

There’s another flavor to Jack’s fear though, an undercurrent of something else he can’t quite place. But there is time enough for that, and honestly, he’s surprised to see such a base fear within the boy at all.

It’s a little bit of a letdown, actually; seeing Jack give in to such a simple, mortal terror. To see him plain and brown and dreadfully _human_ with plain and dreadful human fears. 

Pitch straightens and rolls his shoulders as Jack’s dull brown eyes begin to flutter. This has been entertaining, but it’s gone on long enough now.

“I must say Jack…I’m a little…disappointed.”

Everything yanks to a halt. The dream collapses on itself and water roars as Jack sucks in a deep and strangled breath. Pitch grabs the scene as it rushes by, clutches it and tears it and forces it into the form of his own lair. Water and ice and cold give way to the deep shadows, rough stone, and silent hanging cages of his home.

The humanity melts off Jack, hair going shock white and his eyes flaring their familiar blue from one blink to the next. He looks small and lost, but only for a gorgeous instant, before he spots Pitch. Then the staff appears in his hand and the fear and confusion is smothered again by rage.

Smothered, Pitch notes, but still festering below the surface.

Jack grips his staff and holds it in front of him, ice crackling over the wood and knuckles white as he bares his teeth.  
“Pitch!”

Pitch smiles warmly and nods.  
“Jack.”

“What do you think you’re up to? How did you bring me here?” Frost is circling him now, every muscle tense and ready to spring. Pitch rolls his eyes and stays where he is, hands folded behind his back as he watches Jack. He's not complaining, he could watch Jack for hours after all.

“I’m not ‘up to’ anything Jack. This is, after all, your nightmare. I’m simply here to watch. But as I said, I’m disappointed by what you’ve given me so far. Death, Jack? That seems like far too simple a fear for you.” His lip curls in a sneer, "Far too...mortal a fear for you."

“Stay out of my head!”

With a swirl of shadow Pitch is in front of him, face pulled between a snarl and a grin. “You brought me here Jack! You-!” he taps Jack on the forehead, grinning now as Jack snarls back, “made this nightmare. I’m only here because of you!" He shrugs and holds his hands out in a mocking apology. "I just got bored with what you gave me and decided to change the scenery a little.”

Jack backs away slightly while scowling. “What are you-“ he frowns, all his righteous anger momentarily forgotten as his nose wrinkles.  
“Am I still…dreaming? Or…are we actually in your little pit?”

Pitch laughs then, flinging his arms out in his delight. “Yes!”

Jack’s scowl returns even deeper than before. “I’m not interested in your games Black, where am I?”

Pitch huffs in frustration and drops his arms back down, Jack is being unreasonably dense about this. 

“You’re tucked away, safe in your little hole in the ground. And-“ he gestures to the expansive cavern of bridges and cages that makes his home, “you’re here. Because you let me bring you here. It’s _your_ nightmare, Jack.” 

“I’m not afraid of you!”

“No…” Pitch steps forward, voice dropping to a low purr. “But you’re afraid of something. Why does your own death scare you? It’s a distant glimmer in your past and you’re not that pathetic human boy anymore. So why does it haunt you?”

To Jack’s credit, he barely even flinches. But his jaw clenches and wood creaks under white knuckles, and that’s all Pitch needs. He stalks forward, loving each hesitant step back Jack takes with every slow, purposeful step of his. 

Pitch tilts his head, thoughtful. “Though perhaps it isn’t the death that makes that memory so…vivid.” Grey eyes flash with gold as he quickens his pace, breath catching as his voice drops to a rushed murmur.

“How was it, Jack? Feeling your limbs go dead, seeing your salvation a few feet away, through a few scant inches of ice. Knowing that all you had to do was give a few kicks and you’d be back up, but your legs just wouldn’t listen. Feeling the cold numb everything and being unable to do anything to save yourself. Knowing that if your dear little sister fell in that you’d be just as powerless to save her. That was it wasn’t it? Being so completely separate from your own body, being so out of control. So. Entirely. _Helpless._ ”

And there it is. There's the break he was looking for, praying for. The moment he's been wanting to see since Jack turned his back all those years ago. Jack looks absolutely gutted as he all but falls backwards to get away, lips pulled back in grimace even as his eyes go wide and panicked. “Stop it! You-!” His voice cuts off with a sharp gasp as the shadows shift just slightly and his back hits a wall. The staff clatters to the ground, useless now in this nightmare, and it melts into the dark growing around them. Pitch crowds him, shadows darkening further as he looms over the boy. 

“Does it remind you of being alone, Jack? Was it like trying everything just to be noticed while the world passed through you? But you have everything now don’t you? You have your precious believers and all your little Guardian friends. But maybe it’s not all sunshine and good feelings?” 

Jack is staring up at him in horror, hanging on every word and that’s how it always is with them isn’t it? Jack may despise him now, may never forgive Pitch, may hate every word he says but he’s always paid attention. Pitch leans in closer, voice a low growl now. “Maybe you’re finally starting to realize that you’ll never really belong with _them_.”

At that Jack finally snaps, shoving against Pitch with a yell and a blast of icy wind. “You don’t know anything!”

In this nightmare it’s barely a gust but Pitch steps back nonetheless, laughter echoing off of stone and dark from every direction as he fades into the shadows. Jack carefully moves away from the wall, tense hands flexing at nothing without the staff to grip onto. He slowly turns, tensing further as the shadows shift around him and the wall disappears. Even the soft padding of bare feet is impossibly loud now as he slowly backs away from where the wall used to be.

“Pitch you let me out of here right now bef-“ His voice breaks and he barely holds in the startled cry as his back hits Pitch’s solid weight. Before he can react the shadows dart in, grabbing his arms and legs as a thin grey hand claps over his mouth. 

“You’ll what Jack? You want to leave? Go then! All you have to do is wake up after all!” He grins and his hand clenches as Jack jerks against him.

There’s still anger, but it’s a weak, sputtering thing that dies as Jack struggles and the shadows holding his limbs tighten and grow heavy. With every wrenching pull and tug the shadows only tighten their hold.

Pitch lets him fight, lets him yell against his hand and try to kick at the bonds holding him. He simply waits and inhales deeply. He could stay like this forever; reveling in the panicked, desperate fear filling the air while sharp, bitter cold seeps into his body wherever he has the boy pressed against him.

Jack is still struggling but his movements are breaking down into desperate jerks and twists. His enraged yells are tapering off, slowly dwindling into the most beautiful broken whimpers that Pitch has ever heard. He shushes him gently and cards his long fingers through the soft white hair with an aching tenderness.

Jack goes completely still, and he feels more than he hears the soft whine against his hand.

“Sshhh Jack…I do know. You’re not like them, they know it and you know it. Your entire purpose is to mess things up isn’t it? To turn everything into a game while they work hard, stick to deadlines. You may all be pals,” he sneers the word, fingers biting into Jack’s cheek as his hand clenches for a moment, “but you’ll never fully be accepted. You’ll always be the odd one out, always the little black sheep of the happy and hardworking family. But I know, Jack. I know what that’s like, being the rejected one.”

It’s an old argument, repeated almost every time they meet but Pitch always hopes…maybe this time. Maybe this time Jack will listen to him, see that he’s the only one who will ever accept Jack fully, the only one who really understands him.

There’s a small movement against his hand and Pitch realizes that Jack is shaking his head, still pulling against him and why won’t he just _listen?_ "Oh, you disagree? You think that it's alright that they only paid attention when they could use you, Jack? You're a tool to them, they didn't care until they decided you could join their little club! And you let them use you!" He has to stop and breathe, has to calm himself and focus on the soft hair under his hand.

The hand in Jack’s hair clenches for a second, then relaxes and smoothes over his head as if apologizing for the rough treatment. The fear in the air is shifting and Pitch can’t quite put a name to it. He continues his petting absently as he considers the change. It’s not the desperate, panicked and wild fear from earlier. Or even the enraged, pounding terror that grew as Jack struggled against Pitch’s hold.

It’s quieter, stronger, subdued and quivering and intoxicating.

It’s absolutely _raw_.

“Now Jack…whatever is the matter?” He flashes a vicious grin as his hand tightens again, yanking Jacks head back until he’s forced to look up into Pitches sharp smile. “It’s only a dream after all. Whatever has the brave and bold Jack Frost so terrified now?”

He lets go and slides the hand in Jacks down over his face and to his throat, feeling the chilled skin jump against his palm. And then he notices it. The raw terror spikes and Jack’s eyes slam shut as he shudders against Pitch. 

“Oh…” There’s a hiss as Pitch sucks in a breath, hand sliding back up to cup Jacks jaw, rubbing his thumb over the cold pulse just to feel it jump.

“Just look at you…” 

There’s a heavy pause, a moment where Pitch simply breathes, where his hand tightens on Jack’s jaw, where he considers, weighs his options. 

He could step back now; he could leave the nightmare here and enjoy the sweet taste of victory. He got what he came here for. To feel Jack’s fear, to see what his nightmares were made of. He had his moment, said and done all he intended to. 

He could step away now, leave it here and be satisfied.

 

His hand slides, slowly. Very slowly, down the white column of Jacks throat. 

It’s as if each and every one of his nerves is lighting up and he can feel everything with excruciating detail.

The way Jack’s skin feels impossibly soft and thin and delicate beneath his palm.

The sharp up-down of Jacks adams apple as he swallows. 

The cold damp as his own warm hand leaves a trail of condensation over icy skin. 

Pitch can even feel Jack’s breath, in the hollow rattle of his throat and the harsh puffs against his other hand as the boy tries, and fails, to even his breathing through his nose.

It destroys him. He wants to feel more. He needs to feel more. Needs to feel the way Jack’s heart beats through his ribs and the way his stomach sucks in and his lungs hitch with every gasp. He needs to dig his fingers in and feel the quivering of muscles under the too-thin layer of cold skin.

Every inch of Jack is focused entirely on Pitch. Every one of Jack’s movements; every twitch and gasp and gulp and even the slight shakes of his head; they’re all because of Pitch. He can’t let that go, he can’t let it end.

His hand reaches the top of Jack’s sweatshirt and stops there. Long fingers spread slowly until just the tips slide under the collar.

“Three hundred years…” he says softly, staring at the contrast of his smudged, grey skin against flushed white. “Is that how long it’s been Jack? Since someone really touched you?”

He ignores the shakes of Jack’s head as his hand slides out from Jacks neck. His fingers trace the ridge of his collarbone and the shirt collar stretches to its limit as he finally wraps his hand over the curve of Jack’s shoulder.

“You and your little friends may tag and shove and nudge each other. But a true caress…and you’re entirely undone. It’s horrifying, isn’t it? Being unable to cope with the simplest touches. Did you long for them while you were alone? Were there nights where you wanted nothing more than to feel? To have the simple drag of skin against yours?”

Jack twists violently, wrenching his shoulder away and yelling against Pitch’s palm. It’s amusing, absolutely precious really, the way he’s still denying what’s happening, still trying to hide beneath his anger. The shadows wrap further up the boy’s limbs as an arm snakes around his chest, yanking him back and holding him fast. 

“Sshhhh, shhh Jack… you can’t always fight your fears.” His hand spreads and rubs slow, soothing circles over Jacks heart. "Sometimes, it's best to embrace them. Let them take over." The boy goes still, breathing harsh and pulse beating frantically against Pitch’s touch.

And it’s completely wrong.

The beating is there but it’s muffled, blanketed by thick cotton that scratches against his palm and buffers the cold that’s biting the hand over Jacks mouth. He can’t feel _anything_. 

His hand skims down over Jack’s front, barely feeling the way the muscles tense as he goes down and it’s not enough not enough! The sudden chill against his fingers as they duck under the bottom of the offending shirt is almost a relief and Pitch sighs while his hand slides up to the base of Jacks ribs. 

The sound it pulls from Jack is a desperate, broken thing and it’s made even more beautiful when Pitch can feel it with both hands in the hum against his one palm and the jerking of muscles beneath the other. He drags his hand across Jack's stomach just to feel it jump again. Just to feel the way his skin twitches and the muscles jerk under the skin. Jack continues to whimper out a variety of gorgeous noises. It’s as if Pitch is playing a delicate instrument, every curl or stroke of his hand over the expanse of icy skin creates a new sound, a new vibration that shudders through Jacks whole body.

Pitch loses track of how long he plays, he becomes lost in the terrified choking noises and the feel of smooth, frosted skin. Jack’s body grows colder the longer it goes and the chill is sinking into Pitch’s front. It makes him want to hold the boy closer, pull him in until he can feel the cold down to his bones where it will never leave. His reverie is broken only when his hand moves up and his fingers brush against a hard nub.

Jack keens with a violent shiver, and Pitch goes completely still. There’s a pause that only lasts for a few beats, but seems to drag out for hours. His fingers dig into the cold flesh under them and he doesn’t know if the harsh breathing echoing through the caverns is Jack’s or his own.

His thumb slowly, purposely moves and smears hard over Jack’s nipple again. And it’s just perfect, the way Jack’s back arches, the muffled cry and the flush of pink blooming over pale skin. 

The hand covering Jack’s mouth tightens, pulls, makes Jack tilt his head back because Pitch needs to see everything. He drinks in the flush over Jack’s white cheeks, the way the flesh dimples where he’s digging his fingers in and the wide, panicked blue eyes. They meet Pitch’s burning gold irises for a brief second before Jack slams them shut, shaking his head again at everything that’s happening to him.

“Look at me!” Pitch shouldn’t be this affected, but his voice is absolutely wrecked and he snarls when Jack just keeps shaking his head in denial. "I said look at me Jack! Let me see everything!" He growls and twists his fingers over Jack’s nipple, grinning when the boy’s eyes snap wide open and the blue is almost lost in his blown pupils. Jack’s entire body is arched now, every inch of it shaking and each desperate huff of air comes with a small cloud of frost.

Jack doesn’t try to look away now, his eyes stay wide and desperate and pleading and when he’s like this, quiet and held down, Pitch can imagine that they’re pleading for more. He can pretend that Jack came here on his own, that if he let go there would be hands grabbing at him and clutching at him, pulling him closer and begging him to go on. He can imagine that Jack wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t go back to the place of light and wonder, wouldn’t go back to them.

His lip curls at the thought and grits his teeth as he drags four harsh, bright red lines down Jacks chest. The boy’s eyes close again and his breathing hitches with a high whine. He writhes in Pitch’s arms as the nails continue down, leaving red welts against white skin from sternum down to his stomach. Pitch makes it slow, makes sure Jack feels every inch of it and makes sure they’re deep. He wants them to stay, wants his mark to be there long after he leaves.

His hand lingers there, tracing the rise of each line that ends right above Jacks trousers, when he feels a hint of cold from lower down. His hand stops, he holds his breath, not daring to look as he moves again, ever so slowly, downward.

Jack wrenches again, voice breaking away from the soft animal whimpers into true panic again, but Pitch just shushes him and holds him while he continues to move to the source of that cold between Jack’s legs.

He finally feels how hard Jack is and Pitch’s breath stutters out of him in a low, soft groan. He cups his hand over it, burning cold even through the soft doeskin and he squeezes just slightly, biting his lip when it twitches in response. Jack’s voice breaks on a long, quivering whine and his body rolls under Pitch’s hand, head still shaking even as his hips push forward.

“Shhhh Jack…” Pitch feels the whole length of Jack’s erection, stroking it through his trousers while he presses his face to the soft hair under his chin. “Sshhh that’s it, you gorgeous boy…that’s it. Oh you lovely thing...there's no need to be afraid of this. But your fear is absolutely exquisite...”

It’s not enough, still not enough, there’s leather and fur under his hand and it’s blocking him. His fingers are frantic as he scrambles at the ties to Jack’s trousers, yanking the lacing out and groaning again as he reaches in and pulls Jack’s full length out. He presses his face further into the white hair, panting in time to Jack’s harsh huffs as he wraps his hand around the boy’s erection. He curls himself over the small, shaking body beneath him, tries to press himself closer so he can feel every inch of Jack as he trembles. 

Jack’s still shaking his head, even though each huff of air breaks on a whimper and hitches as Pitch slowly pulls his hand up. He traces each ridge and pulsing vein, smears his fingers through the icy fluid at the top and marvels at how impossibly cold it is. He wonders if his own hand burns against Jacks skin, if he’s leaving a searing mark with each slow stroke. He hopes every touch is like a brand.

Jack’s moving nonstop now, thighs trembling and hips hitching up into Pitches hand while trying to pull away at the same time. Pitch hunches his shoulders further around him, tightening his grip on Jack’s throbbing erection and makes sure to feel every bit that he can as he strokes faster. Because this? This is HIS. Every shiver and pulse, every high, broken and desperate sound and every tremble of lips against his palm. Each one was pulled out by him and they’re his alone to hear and feel.

He’s tempted, for a moment, to pull the hand over Jack’s mouth away. He wants to hear Jack moan for him, wants to know what his full voice sounds like when he’s like this.

Wants to know if Jack would say his name, high and desperate like he was the only thing in the world.

But he keeps his hand pressed over Jacks mouth, he knows it wouldn’t happen. Knows that the spell will be broken as soon as he lets go. But for now it’s still his.

So he takes what he can while he can. He slides his hand over the velvet head and rolls his thumb over the weeping slit. He doesn’t tear his eyes away from the angry red flush along Jack’s erection and savors every twich and throb he pulls from it.

Jacks voice goes higher, now a constant stream of muffled whimpers and Pitch presses in further, moves his hand faster and gasps as he twists with every stroke. His voice is a soft, hoarse whisper as he breathes against Jack’s ear.

“That’s it, come on. Come on Jack, you’re almost through, that’s it. For me, just for me Jack. Oh Jack…come for me.” He moans the last word, feeling Jack tense, then shake violently. It’s like Jack’s being ripped apart, wailing against Pitch’s hand as he thrashes and Pitch catches the freezing fluid in his palm. 

It doesn’t last nearly long enough, all too soon Jack is boneless against him, still breathing out high, broken noises as he shivers like a small animal. Pitch slowly moves his hand from Jack’s mouth, pulling it away slowly to run through Jacks damp hair and the boy sucks down air like he’s run for miles. Every gasp hitches on a sound like a sob that shudders out of him, and every new sound is more gorgeous than the last.

Jack feels impossibly small against him, and he still sounds like some wounded creature as Pitch wraps both arms against him, shushing him softly and gathering him in. He’s so impossibly, heartbreakingly small. Pitch surrounds him, turning him until Jack’s forehead is cradled against his chest and he’s leaning fully into him.

Just when Pitch is ready to carry Jack off, ready to find the darkest and deepest part of his lair to hide him away in, Jack wrenches in his arms again. Gasping loud and sudden like he’s coming up for air and

he’s gone.

Pitch stares at the empty space in his arms, where the air is still cold and his clothes are still lightly frosted. Blinks as he slowly lowers his hands, idly rubbing the slick between his fingers.

He had forgotten, for a moment, that Jack would wake up eventually.

\------------------------------

In a small hole, deep underground, Jack wakes with a gasp, feeling like his lungs can’t get down air fast enough. He scrambles back, only stopping when he hits an ice-covered wall and he has to sit there for a few moments. 

He curls on himself, eyes wide and body STILL shaking, he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop shaking.

He just stays there, small and bowed over with his fingers clutching at his hair while he tries desperately to remember how to breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> Man. First time writing fic and I just go for the all-out dark noncon. Thanks goes out to my followers on Tumblr who kept encouraging me and putting up with my melt-down status reports! And super extra thanks to ihavealair and sammiches for being awesome beta's who will some day teach me the ways of punctuation.
> 
> But that is not this day.
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick, porny, drabble and look at what it turned into.
> 
> Also also I'll mess with the formatting that got lost during posting later but it is late and I just really don't want to even right now.
> 
> EDIT!!!  
> SO REMEMBER HOW I SAID THIS WAS THE END NO MORE!? WELL I LIED.
> 
> The lovely Kalael and I are currently collaborating on a sequel to this mess. So for all of you who wanted more
> 
> this is going to be entirely your fault.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Debris](https://archiveofourown.org/works/737989) by [Kalael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael)




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